Living on Wisteria Lane

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April 27

The answer was, "Yes. Yes I will. Yes we should live together." And before I could respond I was down on her living room floor having the world's best makeup sex.

It wasn't until after we finished, and we were lying there in a post-orgasmic haze, that I realized just what I had said and done. It wasn't a terrible thing to ask, was it? I've lived with girls before. Well, not in their suburban homes — with their moms and young children — but I'd shacked up with other chicks. It wasn't a biggie.

I knew I didn't want to lose India, and if that meant living on Wisteria Lane with preschoolers and commuting to work an hour and a half each day, then that was a minor price to pay.

It all happened so quickly. The moving in part, I mean. Granted I don't have a lot of wordly possessions here in New York, but it still felt weird to move them into the closet she used to share with Stephen. She's even kept a bunch of his clothes in there.

Her mom cooked a welcome to our house tuna casserole in tribute. Gone were the scowls and judging eyes. She was just as delighted to have me as India. It seemed strange to me that they would both have such tremendous changes of heart. All for what? Because I agreed to move into their home, leave the toilet seat up, and forget to close the refrigerator door?

Turns out it wasn't that simple. Last night, after sex, I held India in my arms and said, "It's nice to have you back."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Before we moved in, I felt like I was losing you, like our relationship was slipping away."

"Really?"

"I thought we were going to break up."

"But why?"

"You were so distant and detached. You and your mother."

She looked up at me, soft eyes. "Oh, Zach. I'm so sorry. That had nothing to do with you. In fact, you've been a perfect angel these last few weeks. My mom and I both said how lucky we were to have you in our lives."

"I don't understand."

"Zach, I have something to tell you. Very few people know this. Only my closest friends."

"What is it?"

"I have a sister."

"I thought you were an only child?"

"I told you that because I didn't want to freak you out. It's enough that you're dating a widow with kids. You don't need any more drama from me."

"So what? You have a crazy sister. Have you ever met my brother?"

"My sister is very sick. She's been in and out of institutions all of her life. She's schizophrenic. When she's on her meds she's tolerable, but when she's not, which is most of the time, she is very imbalanced."

I was trying to figure out what this had to do with her treating me like dirt the last few days, but she explained everything.

"Tess — that's her name — will sometimes disappear for months and we don't hear from her until some police officer in Vermont or North Carolina tells us they picked her up on the street, drugged out or drunk out of her mind, and that she gave us our number to post bail. Anyway, she's been gone for over a year, but now she's back again, looking for money. My mom and I have been dealing with her, but it's very stressful. I want to keep her away from my home and the kids. She's staying at a hotel a few towns north of here and she seems to have gotten even more crazy. So that explains why I've been so distant. I just have a lot on my mind. I'm sorry."